


If There's Room Beneath Your Feet

by drostan



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Eunuch, M/M, Non-graphic mention of past abuse, Oral Sex, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27174188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drostan/pseuds/drostan
Summary: At the court of lord Hannibal, a dignitary presents him with a rare gift: a young eunuch, Will.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 38
Kudos: 214





	1. Chapter 1

A visiting dignitary makes Hannibal a gift, in deference to his great hospitality and greater army. 

Rather, he makes him many gifts: silks; finely wrought gold bands inlaid with precious stones; a harp; thick furs; an exquisitely bound illuminated manuscript no doubt plundered from some monastery across the seas.

But also among them: a young man. 

Although clearly an adult, there is something about him that encases him in the slender-limbed, creamy-skinned blush of youth as if in amber. 

When the dignitary proudly flourishes to him and beckons him forward, the young man spares Hannibal a quick, reserved glance before his gaze returns to the marble floor. 

Hannibal looks to the dignitary with a curious lift of his eyebrows.

“Does he go with the harp?”

“I do not believe so, my lord,” the dignitary laughs, before quickly adding, “Though he may surely be trained to play, if that would please you. He is intelligent and quick to learn.”

He leans forward slightly and says in a mock conspiratorial tone:

“A eunuch, my lord. You will notice by his countenance.”

Hannibal had noticed; from his slim, hairless legs to the delicate softness of his features, half hidden by a dark mass of curls. 

In his smell, too, just detectable under the dust of the road; a freshness and melancholy, all at once. 

He gestures the dignitary forward to kneel and kiss the great ruby ring on his hand again. 

“Eunuchs are a rare sight in our lands,” he says. “You do me great honour indeed.”

The dignitary straightens up and glances with interest at the boy. 

“Truly they are – I have only seen one on a few occasions, and never in this part of the world. One often hears tell of them in the East, my lord, where they are said to create ten thousand more every year. They are valued not only for their lasting beauty, but their loyalty, their trustworthiness, their voices which surpass a woman’s for sweetness.”

Hannibal is drawn to the young man once more. Of his beauty there is little doubt, but only time will tell whether there is anything trustworthy behind that carefully blank stare, still trained on the ground. 

“Perhaps he will sing for us at dinner,” he suggests, eyes still on him. 

“In truth, my lord, I have never even heard this one say a word – no doubt the long journey has exhausted him. But no, my lord,” here the dignitary’s eyes flicker once again with wonderment to the eunuch. “There are other arts eunuchs are trained in where they are said to rival any woman. The poetry that comes out of these places speaks for itself. So it is with this boy, I am told.”

Not told by the boy himself, whose mouth remains shut and eyes remain downcast.

Hannibal is pleased. He sends the young man away with the rest of the gifts and invites the dignitary to rest himself before the feast.

///

The eunuch is not in attendance at the feast, and it is perhaps just as well: it is uncertain where he would fit, from the crowd of guests lining the tables to the bustle of slaves and servants weaving expertly among them while balancing sloshing pitchers of wine. 

At his feet, maybe.

The harp is here though, being played by one of the court musicians. It’s muddied by the clatter and laughter in the hall, but Hannibal is still struck by the resonant, cascading notes. 

The reverberation of the strings follows him long after the singing and eating has ended, as he makes his way to his chambers. He strips down until he’s just in his shirt and breeches and stands at the window, letting the cool breeze brush over him. 

The chamber door opens and closes with a soft click and he knows before he turns around that it’s the young eunuch. Someone’s washed him and his dark hair glows in the light of the fire without the dust of the journey settled in it. He’s wearing fresh clothes too, but in the same style as before: a simple short-sleeved tunic, belted at the waist, that stops midway down his pale thighs. 

The lingering smell of horses, smoke and harsh dirt roads has also been washed from him. Hannibal can smell him clearer now, along with the light scent of sandalwood oil. 

Hannibal watches him silently and unmoving. The young man meets his gaze for a moment, before he lowers his eyes in what could be a submissive fashion. 

He steps forward lightly, without a sound, feet clad in soft leather sandals that twist up to this middle of his calves. His hands rise to his belt and he shrugs out of the tunic, letting it pool at his feet. 

He steps free of it and his body is washed a second time in the ethereal glow of the fire. 

He stands loosely with his arms at his sides, completely unashamed of his nakedness. 

Hannibal’s eyes run over the smooth skin of his face, his arms and chest which are shapely without any hardness, down to his soft stomach and hairless legs, and the soft cock hanging between them. It’s much smaller than one would expect of a man his age, and looks all the more vulnerable due to the lack of pubic hair and testicles. 

The man looks up at him from beneath his lashes and raises his eyebrows minutely, as if daring comment.

Hannibal lets a slow smile form on his lips. 

He leans back against the window ledge and raises his arm slightly as summons.

The young man crosses the rest of the room and drops gracefully to his knees before him. Hannibal’s hand immediately sinks into the thick curls. He angles his head up to hold his eyes. The flickering firelight makes them dance between fathomless darkness and the glittering night sky. 

“Do you have a name?” he asks. 

“Will.” His voice is light and clear and youthful. It sounds like a song from deep in his memories. 

“I wondered if I might have the pleasure of naming you,” Hannibal says, largely to see if this will get a rise out of him. He had noted a whisper of sharpness in the boy’s eyes each time he had looked at Hannibal; a knife edge swiftly blunted as soon as he was watched back.

It almost works: Will’s brows draw slightly together and his eyes harden. But in an instant the look is swept away like writing on sand and the face gazing up at him is the picture of yielding devotion.

“I live only to bring pleasure to my lord, so if my lord would prefer another name…”

Hannibal huffs a small laugh through his nose. He brings his hand round to cup Will’s jaw and run his thumb over his plump lower lip. 

“I am pleased enough with your name, Will. But I’m sure you know how you could please me more.”

Will doesn’t look away from him as he closes the narrow gap between them and presses his tongue to Hannibal’s cock, already growing fat and thickening further under his hot breath. He nips at the laces of his breeches with his teeth, and Hannibal undoes them enough to free himself. Will’s lips open pliantly as Hannibal pushes the sticky head of his cock between them. 

That tongue feels even better sliding and pressing against his bare skin. He looks at the spit dribbling down his shaft and feels his balls tighten. He considers coming like this, fucking Will’s mouth. 

He holds Will in place by his hair and pulls out. Will gives the length one last lick before he rises, the top of his head barely reaching Hannibal’s shoulder. 

He takes Hannibal’s hand in both of his and steps backwards, sending him a coy look. Hannibal indulgently lets himself be drawn forward. He thinks towards the bed, but no, Will guides him in the other direction until they’re standing on the bearskin in front of the fire. 

Emboldened, Will pushes up his shirt and Hannibal pulls it over his head. Will presses close to him and kisses down his chest, slowly sinking to his knees once more. He takes his cock in his mouth again and unlaces the breeches further so he can tug them down his hips.

Hannibal kicks them off and moves to push Will onto his back. But no sooner have his knees hit the bearskin than Will is crawling into his lap, panting and rubbing his ass against his cock. He places his hands against Hannibal’s chest and Hannibal lets himself recline backwards on the dense fur, propping himself on his elbows.

He slides a hand through the cleft of Will’s cheeks, and finds it already slippery with oil, maybe the same that fragrantly sits at the pulse of his throat.

He pushes two fingers in and feels his soft body open easily for him. He pulls them out and wipes the slickness on his cock.

Will holds himself over his cock, back arched and hands braced on Hannibal’s thighs, and lets Hannibal nudge the fat head against his entrance. He pushes onto it, then slowly slides all the way down with a soft, aching sigh. 

Hannibal draws in a slow breath at the feeling of that tight heat clenched around him, then the warm weight of Will seated fully on his lap, his thighs and ass unbelievably soft against his skin. 

Will squirms as he adjusts to the thick intrusion inside him, eyelids fluttering and cheeks slightly flushed. 

Hannibal slides his hands round to cup Will’s cheeks, spreading them apart and feeling Will’s hole stretched around his cock with the tips of his fingers. 

The noise Will makes is hungry and needy. He starts rocking his hips, riding him in tight little undulating circles. 

With each roll of his hips, his little flaccid cock bounces gently. Hannibal raises his legs so his thighs are pressed against Will’s back. Will leans back against them, tipping his head back against his knee. He fucks himself harder on Hannibal’s cock while keeping his ass pressed against his hips. 

He grinds down, ass clenching and whimpers falling from his open mouth. Hannibal pumps his hips up to meet him once, twice, and comes with a satisfied sigh. 

Will shifts to let Hannibal’s softening cock slip out of him, then settles back on Hannibal’s lap. The squirming desperation from before is gone, like a candle snuffed out. The only sign it was ever there, the faint smoke rising from the wick, is the exertion apparent in his panted breaths. He watches him through lowered eyes and Hannibal’s content to let him while he waits for his own breathing to steady. 

///

“That was very good,” Hannibal says appraisingly, as though complimenting a simple meal. 

Will frowns slightly, seeming thrown. He opens his mouth as though he’s going to say “I know,” but reconsiders. 

“Thank you, my lord,” he says guardedly after a moment. 

“It was quite the performance. I could have almost believed it, even had it not been for…” he trails off, as though for the sake of tact, but cups Will’s soft cock. 

Will twitches away from him, a dark flush of colour spreading on his cheeks and ears because of – embarrassment? Anger? He says in a voice both airy and tight:

“I’m afraid a performance is all I can give you, my lord,” the last words he says with a note of petulance, if Hannibal is not mistaken. “And if anyone told you otherwise then you have been mis-sold. I am after all only a slave and half a man.”

“Ah,” says Hannibal, “here you are again at last. I must say I prefer you like this.”

Will looks as though he’s unsure whether he’s being goaded. He flops down inelegantly on his back next to Hannibal, leaving a small gap between their bodies.

Hannibal wants to touch him. He settles his hand around his throat, feeling the pulse flutter, then passes it down his chest to rest on his hip bone. Will doesn’t move from his touch this time, but neither does he welcome it; it is another thing he simply allows to happen to him. 

Hannibal wonders if that’s the last he’s seen of Will. 

He wants more time to contemplate him, but the heat this close to the fire is starting to get uncomfortable and he’s sure Will’s making a mess on the bearskin. 

“Come. You may sleep in my bed tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this sitting around for a while, and finally decided to make it everyone else's problem
> 
> title is from the song Lovers Dream by Anna Ternheim


	2. Chapter 2

Will is still curled up in a lump the next morning in the same place he fell asleep, a safe distance from Hannibal. Tousled black hair and a line of smooth back is all he can see.

Hannibal gently slides the sheet down to his hip and presses against his back. He curls his arm around his narrow chest and Will stirs sleepily. After a breath he pushes softly back against him. 

Hannibal takes him again like that, pumping slowing in and out of him. Will presses his head back against his shoulder, biting his lip and groaning prettily. 

From each movement of his body to each sound that passes his lips, Will seems to be perfectly in tune with what Hannibal would want from a lover. One could almost describe him as tailor made for him. What a shame then that the fact that Hannibal knows this is a hollow imitation is like cold rain on the fire of his desire. 

Any other whore may at least be able to chase their own sexual satisfaction regardless of their feelings towards whoever’s paying for their time, but from what Hannibal knows of eunuchs Will is no more capable of experiencing arousal than a statue. 

But Will’s ability to get so closely in sync with him is intriguing. 

///

While his lust may be tempered somewhat, Hannibal can’t deny that he has been left well sated by Will each time. Nor can he deny that he feels only a growing interest in him.

Hannibal rolls onto his back and reclines against the pillows, eyes half closed. Will takes the opportunity to slip from the bed and stretch his arms above his head. 

He walks naked around the bed with no sense of modesty or need to make every movement alluring. Hannibal suspects clothes have been something of a rarity in his life. 

There’s a large shallow basin of warm water left discreetly on a stand by a servant earlier in the morning. Hannibal enjoys the sight of Will dancing his fingers through it and splashing some on his face. He’s less impressed when he scoops some into his palm and carefully washes between his legs. Droplets patter around his bare feet. 

“I believe that water was for me to shave with,” he says mildly. 

An involuntary puff of laughter passes Will’s lips, but he still has the sense to at least pretend to look abashed. 

“Forgive me my carelessness, my lord.”

He hovers uncertainly in the cool morning light, eyes flickering to the door. The firelight had lent him a certain dreamy sensuality, but now he just looks painfully young. The hair on his forehead is damp and sticks there flatly. 

“I haven’t told you to go yet, Will. Come here.”

Will kneels on the bed and Hannibal smooths the wet hair away from his face. He guides him onto his back and then straddles him, sitting on his knees. 

Will lies obediently and quietly as Hannibal takes his cock in hand. He engulfs it easily in his palm. His foreskin is as soft and silky as down. He fondles it gently and runs his thumb over the velvety flesh. It doesn’t so much as twitch against his fingers. He pushes it up against Will’s belly with one finger, revealing the long faint scar at the base. 

“Have you never felt sexual pleasure, Will?”

Will looks at him as though the answer is obvious. 

“I’ve been this way since I was six.” 

“Does that distress you?”

Will shrugs and certainly looks unmoved. “It’s all I’ve ever known.”

“And yet you spoke to me quite angrily last night. I thought that might have been why: how many times have you been forced to confront that which was taken from you.”

Will eyes him warily. 

“I would have thought your masters would have instilled in you a more docile disposition.”

“They tried. I’ve never done that before, but…” his voice becomes slightly apprehensive as it trails off and his eyes slide away. 

“Were you not scared I would punish you?”

“I’ve felt I was in danger since you first looked at me.”

“So what’s a little more?”

“Am I wrong?”

“You’re a very clever boy, Will.”

Maybe Will understands even more than he thought. 

“You said that this was all you’ve ever known. But I suspect that’s not quite true, is it?”

Will’s brows draw together and he tilts his head. 

“You seemed to know precisely what would arouse me. As though you could feel it yourself.”

Will’s eyes widen in comprehension. 

“Well, we had schooling, where I came from, of a sort. You learn how to pick up what kind of thing a man’s into. But, I’ve always found it particularly easy to get into their heads. It’s like I know everything about them.”

“You feel what they feel?”

Will picks at the sheet. “Maybe not quite like you’re thinking.”

They’re silent for a moment, then Will suddenly speaks again. 

“I didn’t try to give you exactly what you wanted, though.”

Hannibal knows, and he smiles. “Why is that?”

“You want me to want you, but I can’t. And if you can’t have that, you’d rather I were at least honest. But I don’t think I should do that either.”

“If you knew that what I wanted was the real you, rather than some coy act, why then did you not give it to me?”

“Because I think you’d find the reality of that quite boring in bed. Besides, I’ll give men whatever fantasy they want, but there’s still part of me that’s my own.”

There’s a note of defensiveness and possessiveness in Will’s voice that burrows under Hannibal’s skin. He looms over Will and grips his chin between his fingers. He presses a kiss to his lips.

“Will, I will have every part of you. You’re mine.”

Will breathes out slowly through his nose and reluctantly holds Hannibal’s gaze. Hannibal makes him hold it until he’s almost fidgeting with discomfort, then rolls away from him and stands. He crosses to the basin of water, stopping short with a frown when he’s reminded of Will’s previous adventures in it by its cloudy surface. 

“You may go now. I have much to do today – not all of us work on our backs. And send someone for more water.”

In the mirror he sees Will scowl at him openly and slink away. 

///

The dignitary had been right: Will is a smart young thing. It’s a shame that he seems to have been denied the chance to flourish in any other areas, and Hannibal therefore commits to providing him with an education. 

Besides, he finds himself wanting more opportunities to have the eunuch in his presence. 

He engages his head musician to teach Will to play the harp, though in his first week he shows little aptitude for the instrument. 

“I fear he is tone deaf, my lord,” the musician moans. 

Hannibal is inclined to agree, but a week is no time and he tells them both to persevere. The musician’s sighs echo after him as he strides away.

Luckily, he also needs no excuse to bring Will out with him in his current vocation. 

He holds a feast to bid farewell to the visiting dignitary; Will sits quietly between his legs the whole night, chin resting on his knee. 

The dignitary, sitting beside him, sees Will and flushes with pleasure to see his gift so well received. Hannibal politely thanks him again. 

The man gets up and moves along the tables, clapping guests on the shoulder and sharing jokes, unaware of Hannibal’s eyes fixed on him. He sinks his fingers into Will’s hair and asks casually:

“Did he ever have you?”

He feels Will shake his head against his hand. 

“That’s good for him.”

The next morning the dignitary rides away from Hannibal’s walls healthy and unimpeded. 

///

Every two weeks Hannibal is obliged as lord to hear petitions from the people and pass judgement. He knows that in the East eunuchs often act as attendants in such matters, keeping records of the various grievances, the parties involved and their outcomes. 

Will surprisingly knows how to read and write, and does so in a legible if slow and unpractised hand. And so he finds himself standing beside Hannibal’s great ornate chair in the hall, quill in hand, learning that the troubles of the people are largely petty, tedious and involve pigs. Hannibal’s secretary is grateful for the day off, but the look in his eyes suggests he fears this will cause more work for him in the near future.

Hannibal takes great enjoyment from watching some of the petitioners squirm with worry or impatience while Hannibal makes them wait for Will to finish writing before they hear his judgement. 

As another pig-related dispute is firmly settled, Hannibal turns to Will. He notes a number of blots on the parchment but says nothing about it. 

“Shall we send for the next one?”

“Tell them to send someone who isn’t obsessed with livestock.”

Hannibal gestures to the servant at the door, who admits a man in merchant dress with red, swollen eyes and tear stains on his cheeks. He rushes to the foot of Hannibal’s chair and stumbles into a bow. 

“My lord, my name is Gwilym Drower, and I am come to you to plead for justice in a most grievous murder. Though it pains me to even think it, the murderer is my own brother, Matthias.”

“Who has he killed?”

“His wife – and I know he means to kill me too. I beg you to help me, please.”

“He wants to kill you because you witnessed the crime?”

“No, my lord,” Drower looks pained. “My sister-in-law and I were very much in love. We planned to run away together. We knew it was a betrayal to my brother, but in our hearts we knew it was the right thing to do. But last night I received a note from Miriam – my sister-in-law – saying we were found out, and this morning her body is found strangled in their barn.”

Hannibal watches all this placidly. 

“If this is true, then this is a serious crime, for which only the most serious punishment can be meted out.”

The man breaks into fresh sobs.

“I cannot bear the thought of losing them both. But I cannot bear the thought of her death going without justice.”

“Do you have the note she sent you? That will be evidence in the trial.”

Drower fumbles it out from a pouch at his belt and Will steps forward to take it from him. 

Hannibal nods subtly to two of his guards and they snap to attention. 

“Go with him to his brother’s home and bring him to the dungeon.”

The man hiccups and gives another weak bow. As the guards flank him out of the hall, Hannibal feels Will’s eyes on the back of his skull. 

“Are you going to execute that man’s brother?”

“It is not something I do lightly, Will. My responsibility over these people places both their lives and their deaths in my hands. Such power is almost unthinkable to you, I’m sure. It is a weight I must bear.”

“You seem to be handling it just fine.”

Hannibal nods for the next petitioner to be sent in. 

He doesn’t go quite so far as to indulge his desire to make Will debase himself in public, but once the petitions are over and the last person has filed out of the hall he does make Will suck him. 

From his easy acceptance and lack of any apparent concern that someone might walk in, Hannibal glimpses through a cracked window into Will’s past. 

He pictures him being fucked casually in a room full of courtiers and servants and comes down his throat, hand tightening possessively in his hair. 

Will pointedly untangles his curls as he licks come off his lower lip.


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal leaves Will to his lessons for the rest of the day and sends for him that evening. In the time it takes for him to arrive Hannibal decides that a room closer to his should be found for Will, or perhaps a space could be made in his own chambers. 

“Hello, Will,” he says when he finally shuffles in. 

Will bows his head and waits for Hannibal to do or say anything else. In the absence of any further instruction he lets his tunic drop to the floor, giving Hannibal a coy look through his eyelashes. 

“Must you assume I called you here only for carnality?” 

The coy look turns incredulous. Will sits in the middle of the bed and Hannibal follows him, growing hard despite his earlier words. 

“Are you going to give me what I want, Will?”

Will watches him disrobe and becomes one of the few people he has even known to disobey him.

“I can give you anything you want, my lord. I can beg for it. I can cry. I can make you think it’s my first time.”

An admonishing look falls upon wilfully blind eyes.

“I don’t like the act. I find it distasteful and patronising to us both.”

“No?” Will says innocently. He lies back with his arms raised to his head, tipped back to display his slender neck, full lips parted and blue eyes looking imploringly into Hannibal’s. 

He arches his back slightly and Hannibal can’t resist smoothing his palm over his chest and stomach. He pinches a nipple between his fingers and twists it hard, forcing a yelp from Will. 

“No,” he says. 

Will pushes a frustrated, angry rush of air through his nose. He looks at Hannibal accusingly. 

“What would you rather me do? You know I don’t exactly get much out of this, what with no sensation and no libido. Oh, and no choice.”

“Do you not enjoy touch? The notion of simply being desired can be intoxicating to some. I desire you, Will.”

Will scoffs. “Me specifically? How lucky I was the sex slave dragged to your door then.”

Hannibal regards him coolly.

“Well, since you certainly know your place…” 

Will stares back at him, eyes flashing and jaw clenched, body tight with the breath he’s holding. He looks like he’s about to argue, but Hannibal’s emotionless face and dark eyes check him. He lets the air out in a choked, wretched sob and rolls over onto his stomach, face turned away from him. 

He keeps his face pressed into the bed, but pushes onto his knees and presents himself. 

Hannibal dips his hand in oil and passes it quickly over his cock, then unceremoniously mounts him, pushing into him in a few short, firm thrusts. Will grunts quietly and tries to swallow the noise.

Hannibal falls short of wishing to be cruel, but he certainly wants Will to feel it. He sets an unsparing and rough pace. There’s no pretence at enjoyment or any other emotion from Will, who lies silent and still as Hannibal shoves into him. 

“Do you want to beg for it, Will? Do you want to tell me you’ve never done this before?”

Will turns his head on his folded arms to look obstinately at the other wall and says nothing. 

“Ah, I forget you’re not allowed to want things.”

He decides maybe he does want to be cruel.

“Do you want to tell me to stop?”

Hannibal sees the tremor in his shoulders, but the only sound in the room is the slap of their skin. 

///

He can tell Will wants to leave afterwards, but he can’t allow that. He does give him some space, however, leaving him to lick his wounds in the bed while Hannibal sits comfortably by the fire. 

There’s a gentle splash of water behind him as Will pours some into the basin to clean himself. 

Then the rustle of him climbing under the heavy covers. Hannibal stands and sees only a mass of curls. He moves to sit on the side of the bed and meets Will’s steady gaze. 

“So now you know,” Will mumbles from under the fabric. 

“Now I know what it’s like to be a stubborn eunuch,” he agrees.

Will looks tired and angry, but holds his tongue. He’s still there the next morning, bundled up in the sheets so all Hannibal can see is the troubled blue eyes watching him carefully. Hannibal wonders if he was watching him all night. He himself feels well rested. 

He pulls the covers from Will and runs his hand possessively and contemplatively over his body. 

“How were you made like this, Will? Were you taken from your family? Sold?”

Will reclines on his side in a practised pose, his head pillowed on the arm closest to Hannibal, and regards him. 

“Would it please my lord to hear these things? To know if I cried when they did it?” he asks in a sweet, genuine voice, though Hannibal is not ignorant to the almost mocking edge to it, and would be disappointed had it not been there.

“Yes,” he replies mildly, but he lets the subject drop for now. He eyes Will’s coy pose, both effortlessly natural and insincere to the core, with distaste.

“Are you acting like this again to annoy me? You want to provoke a reaction. But what kind, I wonder.”

Will just watches him. 

“Perhaps you don’t know yourself,” he suggests. 

“My life has never been about what I want. It’s how I can become what they want,” he inclines his head towards Hannibal. “What you want.”

“I would like to see what really lies under all those masks and that scar. Not just glimpses. I would like you to tell me about yourself and about what you want.” 

“And if I said I no longer wanted to lie with you?”

“I would ask what else you have to offer. We have already established that there is little hope for you in my retinue of musicians.”

Will flushes and sits up. He looks pensively into the ashes of the fire for a time, before he glances carefully at Hannibal from the corner of his eye.

“That man – from the council, yesterday. Drower. He was lying.”

“And what makes you think this?”

Will rests his elbows on his knees and shrugs. 

“A few things. Firstly, I know fake crying when I see it. I could cry more convincingly than that right now. I didn’t feel any grief from him. When he spoke of her body in the barn, all I felt was… righteous satisfaction. And speaking of the barn, that just doesn’t make sense. Why would his brother have left the body in his own barn and allowed it to be found? He would hide it better, or do it in another location to draw the gaze away from himself.”

Hannibal contemplates him. “What about the note written by the dead woman?”

Will shakes his head. “It wasn’t written by her, I don’t think. He wrote it. Find anything written by her and compare the two hands.”

“Get dressed, Will. You and I shall be busy today.”

///

Guards are once more dispatched to Matthias Drower’s home, and they return with stacks of parchment. Most of it is in Matthias’ own hand, but there is also a leather bound book of accounts and some unfinished correspondence written by his late wife. 

Hannibal holds them to the light and scrutinises them. 

“It’s a passable imitation, but you were right, Will: this was written by someone else.” 

Will nods. “It was Drower. I know it.”

“And what motive do you see here?”

“I believe he loved her. But I don’t think Miriam was interested in her brother-in-law at all.”

“So he destroyed that which he loved.”

“If he can’t have it, no one can,” says Will. 

“It is fortunate that I have a much more forgiving temperament.”

“Fortunate for Drower or me?” he asks. 

///

A messenger is sent to invite Gwilym Drower to the castle, in order that he might speak with his lord in more detail about the upcoming trial of his brother. 

When he arrives he is shown into a small council chamber. Hannibal is already waiting, leaning by the fireplace. 

Will lurks in the corner, half in shadow, and like most slaves is invisible except to those who want to see them.

Drower bows deeply.

“My lord,” he says. 

Hannibal motions for him to stand, and with another wave of his hand signals for the guards to leave the room. He steps forward and his shadow leaps large on the wall, always shifting.

The silence swells in the room along with the shadow. Before they are entirely engulfed, Hannibal speaks. 

“Tell me, why did you bow just now?”

Drower blinks and his eyes flicker uncertainly.

“B-because you are my lord and I… humbly wish to show reverence…” 

Hannibal cocks his head. 

“And yet I seem to have found myself humbly doing your bidding like a common slave.”

If Will takes umbrage to this he keeps it with him in the shadows. 

“I do not understand, my lord –”

“What I don’t understand is why you felt the need to offload this work to me: you seem to have made an admirable start killing your kin without me.”

Drower’s eyes bulge and his face drains. His mouth open but his voice seems to stick in his throat, so for a moment all he can do his frantically shake his head. 

The words eventually tumble out all at once. 

“No, no, my lord, no. What? If anyone has told you this they have deceived your lordship, I swear –”

Hannibal ignores him and advances slowly, growing infinitely larger with each step. 

“Are you expanding your operations? Perhaps hoping to take me on as an apprentice.”

Drower cowers away from him, babbling denials frantically. His back hits the closed door. Hannibal fills the room.

“I can assure you there is nothing you could teach me.”

Neither Will nor Drower can say where the knife had come from, but by the time they’re aware of it it’s lodged firmly in Drower’s naval. Hannibal wrenches it upwards and the wound gapes open like a split seam. 

The scream rushing up Drower’s throat never sees light: Hannibal’s hands are immediately around his neck like the noose after the drop. Blood rushes loudly out of him and his hands flail between trying to hold his intestines inside his body and trying to get a slippery grip on Hannibal’s arms.

Hannibal swings him staggering round by the neck, in an arc that slams him onto the table with a crash. The impacts knocks Drower’s arms to the side and forces a belch of blood and viscera to erupt from his stomach. 

His feet move weakly against the floor. They slip and find no purchase: his blood is like thick, heavy rain as it pours over the edge of the table. His guts bulge out of the wound and his slow hands touch them with ineffectual horror. 

Hannibal looms over him like a druid at a sacrificial alter.

One of the hands wavers feebly towards him. He seizes it and crushes it unyieldingly against the table, driving the knife through it until the blade splinters into the wood below and stands erect. 

A hoarse moan comes out of the man’s battered throat. Eventually, when the only sound from Drower is the softening patter of blood to the ground, Hannibal raises his black eyes to Will, who shrinks further into the dark. 

He moves closer, not quite caging him in. 

“It’s me, Will. I am the same man I was before. The same one you knew I was, not so deep down.”

Will sinks further into the shadows for a moment, then slowly emerges, letting them fall from his shoulders like a cloak. He looks naked in the light. And Hannibal too is naked in his eyes, laid bare before him. 

Hannibal takes him in his arms and presses kisses gently to his trembling mouth. Will’s hands come up to grip at his biceps, but he doesn’t try to push away, though he must feel the wet front of Hannibal's clothing soaking into his own. 

When he pulls his head back Will’s face automatically rotates to the butchered corpse, but Hannibal firmly directs his gaze back to him. He cups the back of his head and tilts it back, his other hand pressed solidly against Will’s lower back. He kisses his ear and Will lets out a shuddering sigh. 

“I have something for you, Will. Come with me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Will’s eyes are fearful and dark, so dark Hannibal can see his own outline reflected in them.

He returns to his chambers, Will’s soft footfall on the stone hallways behind him. As the guards open the doors for them, he offhandedly tells one that there is a dead body to be disposed of and a live one to be released from the dungeon. The echoes of them hurrying down the hall fade. 

And then they are alone.

The fire has burnt low and casts Will’s face in a soft shadow when he turns to him. It’s smudged with blood. Hannibal sits Will in a chair, fetches the basin and methodically wipes it away. Will’s eyes are bright, almost feverish, but won’t meet his. They rove over his jawline, settle on his mouth.

“When you said lives and deaths were in your hands…” Will begins, hoarse and quiet. He swallows. His jaw is tight. “I thought there would still be a trial.”

Hannibal sets his hands on his narrow shoulders and smooths them up until they cradle his jaw. 

“There was. Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

He builds up the fire, wanting the warmth for later. He rinses his own hands and face. When he turns he finds Will lying sideways on the bed, naked apart from his sandals. 

His hands lie loosely by his head, one absently twisting a lock of hair. One foot remains flat on the floor, the tunic still looped around it, while the other is planted on the bed.

Hannibal comes to stand before him and Will looks up at him with wide eyes and slight trepidation, but remains still when Hannibal curls a hand around his knee. 

“All your clothes, I said, Will.”

He pulls the knot at Will’s calf loose and unlaces the thongs. He gently lifts his leg from the bed to slide the sandal off and kisses his ankle. He hears Will’s indrawn breath. He sets his foot carefully back down, then kneels to focus on the one still on the ground. He sweeps the tunic away and kisses his way up his calf, his thigh, guiding Will’s leg up so that both rest on the bed. 

He places his palms on the inside of each thigh and splays them apart. 

“I let you see me, Will,” he says softly, glancing up to meet his trembling gaze. “So don’t hide from me.”

“I can’t,” Will begins quietly and hesitantly, as though not quite sure what he’s referring to. 

Hannibal shushes him, placing open-mouthed kisses from the delicate skin of his inner thigh to the base of his cock. 

He tips oil straight from the bottle and lets it run in shining, lazy rivulets from Will’s hip to the cleft of his ass. He rubs his fingers through it, over his hole, until they’re sodden. They slip easily inside. 

Hannibal curls his other hand around Will’s thigh and strokes it soothingly.

“Don’t pretend for me. I only want to hear the sounds I pull from you.”

Will takes a deep breath and Hannibal sees him give a small nod from the corner of his eye. He steadily pumps his fingers in and out. The slight awkward tension in Will from the silence eases out of him as he relaxes around Hannibal’s fingers. He lies quiet and docile. 

Hannibal pushes his long fingers in deep and curls them up towards Will’s stomach, searching. Eventually they brush against something, small and undeveloped and hidden, and he presses against it. 

Will is shocked by his own sharp intake of breath, eyes widening. 

Hannibal holds his fingers in place there and rubs firmly in small circles. Will lets out a long whine and is rewarded with another kiss to the inside of his thigh. 

His touches alternate between feather light whispers and unyielding pressure, each pulling its own sweet sound from Will’s lips. 

He gives a soft whimper with each unsteady pant. 

He bites lip and groans helplessly through his teeth. 

His fingers twist in the sheets and his thighs start to tremble uncontrollably.

Hannibal works him over even more thoroughly and relentlessly, not stopping even as his body shudders and arches. His hips continue to twitch weakly against Hannibal’s fingers and his laboured breathing fills the room. 

Will’s mouth is slack and his eyes glazed. He closes them with a deep sigh as Hannibal removes his fingers. 

He looks ruined but it’s not enough. 

Hannibal frees himself and presses his cock between Will’s cheeks. His thick length looks obscenely huge against Will’s own small member and puckered hole. He watches it sink into that tight space, stretching and filling him to the limit. He presses Will’s thighs towards his chest to spread him even more open. 

Each firm pump of his hips elicits a soft grunt. Hannibal tries to drag his cock over Will’s prostate, but the lack of precision and its tiny size make it nearly impossible. Will doesn’t seem to mind though, still boneless and trembling and riding his first high. 

So Hannibal takes his own pleasure, body tight with the adrenaline of a kill. He fucks vigorously into Will, balls slapping wetly against his ass, until he comes with a groan. 

He eases his cock out and a dribble of come oozes after it. He slowly drags his fingers through it and Will’s hand clenches in the sheet as they push inside again. Will hooks one leg over Hannibal’s shoulder and digs the other into the bed, wriggling on his fingers. 

“That’s right, Will,” Hannibal breathes. “Take it, go on.”

Will’s orgasm rolls over him in waves, each one drawing out a strangled sob. 

A long moment passes where Will is motionless aside from his heaving chest. Afterwards he scrubs his hands over his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out with a judder. The sheen of sweat covering him begins to cool and Will shivers. Hannibal is glad of the fire.

Will moves to stand, but his legs tremble and fold like straw and he drops shakily back down to the bed. He worms under the covers instead, leaving the mess of oil and come between his legs for another time. Hannibal follows him, and Will is unresisting when he pulls him to lie against his chest. 

“Do you still no longer wish for me to have you? You have certainly proven yourself quite invaluable in other ways.”

Will’s face clouds with disappointment in himself and he says “I don’t know if you’d care even if I said no.”

“Pretend I would care. Then what would your answer be?” He runs a hand over Will’s plump ass and pushes two fingers back into the slippery heat of him. 

Will closes his eyes and after a beat pushes back searchingly onto his fingers.

“That I want you to do that to me again,” he admits quietly. 

///

There’s no sign of Will the next morning, the sheets where he fell into an exhausted, twitchy sleep the previous night cool to the touch. 

Hannibal is not surprised; as quiet as Will can be, Hannibal is sharper, and he was woken by the eunuch’s slow slide from the bed. Will had stood frozen in the dark, breathing shallow and fast, then Hannibal heard the whisper of the tunic being pulled over his head and the soft step of his bare feet across the stone floor. 

Will remains leery of him in the following weeks. He stops coming to Hannibal’s chambers. Hannibal is interested to know precisely what Will saw, and in whom, to provoke this, but he maintains his distance. 

Hannibal could leave Will no choice. Summon him to his chambers, drag him there himself if needs be. But there is a certain sweetness that Hannibal is already savouring that cannot be found that way. 

While he may not come within touching distance, he nevertheless keeps a close eye on Will, and in between the various duties that keep him busy as lord, he manages to keep a close eye on his movements.

He is interested to know if Will has used his newfound free time to throw himself into his music studies, but the red face of his head musician swiftly answers that question. 

“The beauty of the harp,” the man says, exasperated, “Is that even the simplest of melodies from the most dire of novices can swell with feeling and grace.”

Will clumsily plucks out a sad little stuttering tune, until his hands are swatted away by his teacher’s. 

“I would beat you if it weren’t expressly forbidden. That is where your teaching lacks, I think.”

Will shrugs at him as though he agrees, but in the absence of beatings they must return to their futile task.

The days shorten and winter begins to steal in, bringing with it a growing chill. Will’s limited wardrobe, perhaps sufficient for his previous climate, has always been a slightly foolish choice in Hannibal’s lands, but it was one Hannibal was willing to make him live with while the temperatures did not threaten to fall below freezing. 

Now he engages tailors, furriers and bootmakers, and before long Will can be seen waiting for the hunt to come in, trailing behind the kennel master as he corrals the dogs back to the kennels, boots crunching on the hard frost and the thick fur trim of his heavy cloak wrapped over his nose and mouth. 

Sometimes Will catches his eye, across the courtyard or from behind the ageing librarian as he helps him drag records up from the depths. Will never looks surprised at Hannibal’s sudden appearance, as though he always feels Hannibal’s oppressive presence like a spectre, but he never seems able to look long. 

///

It happens eventually, as Hannibal knew it would. 

He has his chair turned towards the fire and sits with legs outstretched towards the crackling flames, allowing himself a moment of peace before dealing with the pile of letters on the table. It’s prematurely ended when Will lets himself unbidden into the room, bringing with him a new kind of quiet.

Will leans against the closed door, hands behind his back. Hannibal thinks he looks quite the little lord in his loose white shirt and slim dark breeches, black hair brushed and gleaming. 

They look at one another and Hannibal tips his head to the side, inviting an explanation. 

“You haven’t called me for a while,” Will says awkwardly after a moment of silence, turning his face to the floor.

“Never let it be said that I am an unforgiving master. I thought your health might benefit from the rest and time to focus on your other studies.”

Will keeps looking at his feet, processing.

“Thank you,” he says belatedly, almost mechanically. And then, after an even greater delay: “My lord.”

“Of course, I shall expect you to return to your actual duties now.”

Will throws him a quick glance, looks away. He hesitates. His eyes rise carefully to Hannibal’s and the knowing look fuels a flame within Hannibal hotter and more dangerous than the hearth near his feet. 

The room is somehow airless, and has the oppressive, stifling feeling of just before a summer thunderstorm, though snow blows muffled at the shuttered windows. 

Hannibal waits for the air to collapse under its own pressure, for the rain to start to fall. 

Will moves closer, into the fragile circle of the firelight. It takes him longer to shed these clothes than the tunic, but Hannibal is more than happy to watch as the garments slowly fall away from his blushed creamy skin.

He aches to feel that body under his hands, and moves to cup Will’s jaw as he finally climbs naked onto his lap. Will nips at his fingers. Hannibal bites back a smile and places his hands obediently on the arms of the chair. 

Will slowly and deliberately sets his hands on Hannibal’s chest and slides them up to his shoulders. Hannibal feels his fingers close tentatively and searchingly, as though feeling him for the first time. In a way it’s true: Will touching him has always been something of a rarity. Will’s eyes follow the path of his hands, until his fingers sink into the hair on the side of Hannibal’s head and Will’s gaze stutters over his. 

His hands drop, followed by his eyes, which flicker back from beneath his eyelashes. For a moment they’re almost coy, then in response to the miniscule downward pull of Hannibal’s lips they clear to furtiveness. 

“I would like to be someone else right now. It’s easier,” he says honestly after a pause.

“You may only be who you are from now on, Will,” Hannibal says. “And while that may sound like a restriction, I assure you it is in fact a great freedom.”

“There’s a potential for becoming that I never had cause to consider before. But freedom has its price, I was always told. I never understood it before now.”

His slender hands smooth back down to Hannibal’s chest and fiddle restlessly with the laces of his shirt.

“You look at me less easily now,” Hannibal says softly, an observation.

A spot of colour rises on Will’s cheeks, found out. 

“I don’t like when you can look back,” he mumbles, eyes still on his hands, which have slid further to unlace Hannibal’s breeches. His cock pushes free and Will lets the weight of it fill his hand. His tongue pushes out over his lower lip. 

“Should I close my eyes?”

Will pauses a second, head to one side, then shakes it.

“Because you do want me to see you, Will. What you hesitate to see is yourself.”

Will doesn’t answer, keeping his gaze on Hannibal’s cock thick and twitching in his hand. He tightens his fist, rubbing his thumb through the precum at the head, and Hannibal breaths out through his nose.

Hannibal lifts his hand and gently lays it flat over Will’s eyes. Will holds his head steady, but his lips part with a nervous breath and his eyelashes flutter like moths against his palm. 

“Turn around, Will.”

Will slides off the chair, then turns and sits back down in Hannibal’s lap. There’s a slight tension in his shoulders which softens as he settles against Hannibal with a small breath. He’s quiet as Hannibal positions him; tipping him back to recline against Hannibal’s chest and spreading his legs almost uncomfortably wide so they hang over each arm of the chair. 

Hannibal braces one arm across Will’s chest, and with the other holds his cock against his entrance, already wet and slick with oil. 

After several weeks apart Will’s body is tight and protests the intrusion. Will pushes his head back against Hannibal with a pained grunt but he can’t wriggle away at this angle. Hannibal makes him take it in one long, slow relentless push, until his hips are pressed flush against Will’s ass.

Will makes a noise in his throat and his hands tighten on the arms of the chair. 

He fucks him like that, cock sinking into him with each slow, firm pump of his hips. He angles Will’s chin towards him and speaks against his lips. 

“Why did you stay away, Will?”

Will shakes his head, curls brushing against the side of Hannibal’s face. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and flinches away when it touches Hannibal’s mouth too. 

“We could get where you want much quicker if you told me.”

“You should ask why I was crazy enough to come back.”

Hannibal pulls Will’s head to the side and places a series of wet, sucking bites from his shoulder to the underside of his jaw.

“But I already know that.”

Will jerks his head from Hannibal’s fingers and Hannibal decides that he is in absolutely no rush here. He savours the clenching heat of Will’s body, the weak breaths he makes on each thrust, his damp flushed skin against his. 

Will’s breath catches when Hannibal curls his palm over his eyes once more, and again when his other hand gently fondles his soft cock. The foreskin is silken under his thumb and he teases it back from the head. 

He kisses Will’s neck, his shoulders, his hand, the side of his face, almost drunk on him. Will whimpers softly. 

He makes Will take his thick length for an agonisingly long time, holding himself on the edge to the point its almost unbearable, before he presses his hips up and comes deep inside him. 

He holds Will close, letting him feel his heart beating against his back. He leans his face against his curls.

He smooths his palm up from Will’s eyes into his hair and kisses the shell of his ear.

“Will you stay tonight?” he murmurs. 

“Yes,” Will says quietly. 

He abruptly twists his head back to catch Hannibal’s eye. “Aren’t you--” he begins, but at Hannibal’s mildly curious gaze his mouth stubbornly closes over the rest of the words. 

Hannibal tilts his head and says nothing. Will’s eyes search his for a moment, then he reddens and turns away, brows close.

Hannibal tips them both to the side so he can reach his cup of wine, then rights them gracefully. He takes a sip and doesn’t offer Will any. 

“There are some letters I want to finish drafting tonight,” he says. “You may go wait in the bed.”

Will is unmoving for a second, though Hannibal can feel indignation bubbling steadily under his skin, then he wriggles out of Hannibal’s hold. Hannibal doesn’t watch him go, already turning the chair and his attention to the mound of papers. He fixes his clothes as best as he can and reaches for his quill.

While he gives every appearance in being engrossed in his work, he is nevertheless acutely aware of Will’s eyes on him from the other side of the room, as well as the cloud of warring emotions smothering him. 

It’s merely a matter of counting down the seconds.

Hannibal has barely completed half of one letter before Will silently returns to him. He moves to push his chair back from the table, but Will is already squeezing impatiently back into his lap. 

Hannibal’s arms immediately open to embrace him, one palm smoothing up and down the soft expanse of skin between Will’s lower back and the nape of his neck. Will looks self-conscious, which Hannibal thinks must be an embarrassing first for him in this kind of situation. He also looks cross; Hannibal licks a stripe from the hollow of his throat and tastes the bitterness in his sweat. 

Then he sits back.

“I believe I told you to wait in the bed, Will.”

Will presses close to him, reluctant and urgent. He deliberately won’t meet his eyes.

“Please,” he says in a quiet voice to Hannibal’s chin – tone a bit short, a bit stiff, but to Hannibal it’s like some perfect golden note of legend. 

Will pushes his head into the crook of Hannibal’s neck, hiding, and at the same time reaches back to take hold of Hannibal’s wrist. He guides his hand down until it’s cupping one of Will’s cheeks. Hannibal closes his fingers and squeezes, his fingertips brushing against Will’s entrance, still warm and slippery. 

He rubs gently, just light, teasing pressure without without pushing inside. Will’s body had been tense with held breath, and now he lets it out jaggedly through his nose. It’s hot against Hannibal’s skin. Will’s entire body feels almost feverishly warm.

Hannibal sinks his fingers in, the other arm wrapping around Will’s shoulders and holding him close. Will’s own arms come up almost tentatively to wind around him. 

He’s struck by a desire to tease Will, to keep him groaning and sweating but never quite enough – might have, had Will not come and asked so honestly, with such yearning and resentment. He buries his nose in his dark curls and drinks in the scent of him, the positive stench of desperation, shame and desire. 

He’ll reward good behaviour this time.

His fingers press in further and twist. Will shivers, but otherwise stays very still in his arms. His rim is tender and sensitive from taking Hannibal’s cock, and he makes a bitten-off moan when Hannibal teases it. He runs his finger lightly round the edge, then pushes three fingers in to the knuckle and brushes them against his prostate. 

“Have you been touching yourself like this, Will, in our time apart?”

Will’s face burns against him, and Hannibal knows it’s not just from their proximity to the fire. 

“I _can’t_ ,” he says, the bite in his words made toothless by the soft whine that immediately follows.

Hannibal makes a sound that has every appearance of sympathy, smiling. 

He keeps working Will over steadily, feeling his body soften and melt into him. He rubs over his prostate in little persistent circles and feels Will’s shoulders tremble under his arm. Will digs his face harder into Hannibal’s shoulder and makes a sweet wordless sound. 

Will’s shoulders and back are slick with sweat and he hiccups on a gulping breath. Hannibal shushes and rocks him, his fingers easing through his hair. He brushes the thumb of his other hand gently along Will’s cheekbone, and Will nuzzles unconsciously into his neck. 

“Is that what you wanted?” he says softly. 

Will nods but doesn’t speak, and Hannibal feels him draw away from him somehow, though his head still lies pliantly on his shoulder and his arms still encircle him. The hands that clasped are now loose and the lips that pressed against his skin are now pursed and worried. 

“You only ever have to ask me. Whatever you want, I will give it to you.”

Hannibal thinks Will is steeling himself to offer some kind of standoffish, grudging thanks, perhaps before attempting a retreat from the room. 

“What I want,” is what Will actually says after a careful pause, “is to go with them when they take the dogs out hunting sometimes. The kennel master has said I can. But he waits on your approval, of course.”

“That depends. Are you going to come to me smelling like dog?”

“No,” says Will unconvincingly. 

“Very well then,” Hannibal says anyway.

///

In the following days, Hannibal sends for Will each evening, who maintains more than his usual reserve with regard to speech. His little outbursts of the past are notably absent. Hannibal can see him constantly checking himself when about to speak, or weighing each word carefully in his mouth before uttering it. Hannibal decides to force the issue.

“You have still not spoken of that night,” he says, thumb rubbing circles at the nape of Will’s neck. He doesn’t need to specify. Will sits between Hannibal’s spread legs, head resting on his thigh, and watches him with a guarded expression. “I would have thought you would have had much to say on the subject.”

Will keeps his head on his leg, and silently looks up at him, almost in supplication. 

“Perhaps I should even honour you for your service.”

Will flinches and sits up, shoulders tense. 

“Did some part of you thrill to see injustice so swiftly dealt with?” Hannibal asks, voice warm and dark.

“The part of you that’s inside me. And when I’m alone…” His eyes turn inward and he trails off.

“What do you feel then?”

“I feel responsible.”

“You are responsible, Will. Thank you.”

Will lets him guide his head back to rest on Hannibal’s thigh. His eyes are distant and shiny. Hannibal traces the sad downward turn of his mouth with a fingertip. He closes his eyes wearily, his lashes casting a dramatic shadow across his face. Hannibal might have looked at his tragic loveliness for hours and thinks him asleep until Will speaks in an almost inaudible voice.

“It was inevitable that I would come back.”

“You told me once you had no choice.”

The blue eyes slide open and hold his gaze. 

“Even if I had every choice in the world. I find I feel safer when you’re in my line of sight.”

“Do I make you feel safe?”

Hannibal wonders if he sounds patronising, like a parody of a lover. Will’s sour expression suggests yes. 

“No. And I said safer. That’s not the same.”

“It’s not,” Hannibal agrees.

“If you were trapped in a cage with a lion, would you turn your back?”

“Do you consider me to be in a cage?”

Will shrugs. His face has cleared back to a soft thoughtfulness and melancholy.

“Inherently. You’ve been carved into your role just as much as I have – more so, you were born with this life expected of you. And here you perform, day after day, with all eyes turned to you. In theory,” he continues, tasting the words briefly before speaking, “I could leave, be a stranger somewhere new. It would be like losing one pebble from the courtyard. And it would be like these days had never been.”

“No fear the lion would always be tracking your scent?”

“You couldn’t follow me. The entire castle would crumble to dust.”

He lets Will dream a little longer.

“I wouldn’t need to. Your path would always lead back to me.”

Hannibal looks down at him.

“You said so yourself.”

///

Hannibal wonders if Will was underfed in his previous life. Several weeks of eating at Hannibal’s table has seen him acquire a slight additional softness to his overall slender form, most noticeable in an increased plumpness to his behind. 

He finds himself preferring to take Will from behind, so he can see the force of each smack of flesh shudder through the fat cheeks.

No matter what Will might say, his days with Hannibal had irreversibly changed him, altered the very fabric of his being in a way no number of miles or years could hope to undo. Hannibal likes to see the things he’s changed about Will, whether that’s some healthy weight or the greedy look in his eyes when takes Hannibal’s hand and pushes his fingers inside him. 

“You carry weight like a woman,” he says.

Will gives him a dirty look. “I’m not a woman.”

Hannibal ignores Will’s prickles and covers his stomach with his hand, smiling.

“If you were you would be heavy with my children many times over.”

“Not the way we’ve been doing it. I may be wrong though: I have no experience with women.”

Hannibal can hear the question in his remark. He considers ignoring it.

“My lady wife and I had no children. Perhaps we were also doing it wrong.”

Will isn’t sure if this is a joke and wisely keeps his face neutral. 

“Were you married long?”

“No,” he replies shortly. 

Will doesn’t bring up the subject again, and perhaps responding in kind Hannibal does not delve into the subject of Will’s own history. For a time, at least. 

“I expect the house you were first in was the house of a great lord, a prince, even,” he says casually one day, not looking up from the pile of legal documents he’s reviewing.

Will looks at him from where he’s lounging on the bed, his face schooled into a politely curious mask. He says nothing.

“No doubt,” Hannibal continues pleasantly, “I would be honoured to host such a great lord of men at my court.”

He turns to Will.

“What would you do if I were to invite him here, as my honoured guest? To dine and sleep here?”

A shadow passes over Will’s face. 

“I know what you would want me to do.”

Hannibal smiles at him, all teeth. 

“And do you not live to make my desires reality, Will?”

Will dips his head, dark curls falling like a veil over his eyes, and places a hand upon his breast. 

“My lord,” he says.


	5. Chapter 5

Winter thaws incrementally into spring.

Hannibal thinks of the many things germinating in the long dark, waiting to be born in the new light. 

Will comes to Hannibal a disagreeable number of times covered in hair and smelling like a farm-hand, his dark hair unruly and his nose and cheeks bitten red by the continued hard winds. 

While the snow has passed, the air is still bitter and rain whips against the walls. Hannibal is therefore unsurprised when Will arrives one evening sodden and shivering even under his cloak. 

He quickly takes in Hannibal, reposing in the copper bathtub set before the fireplace, his manservant standing in attendance a few paces behind. He unclasps the cloak, letting it fall with a wet thud to the floor, and shuffles in front of the fire. He sighs and holds his hands up to the flames. 

The other two men look at him. 

Then Hannibal inclines his head towards his manservant, saying “Will will attend to me now,” returning his gaze back to Will with a smile. Will frowns at him out of the corner of his eye as the servant takes his leave. 

“I’m cold and wet; I don’t think you’ll enjoy my attendance.”

“You can attend to me simply by moving out of the way of the fire,” Hannibal says from the shadows. Will steps to the side grudgingly. “And as for the cold, you may undress and join me.”

Will hisses at the first touch of hot water against his icy skin and carefully lowers himself to sit neatly between Hannibal’s legs, displacing a small amount of water over the edge of the tub. He hunches forward to duck his head under and splash his face. Then he settles back against Hannibal, slipping down so that the water laps at his chin and his toes break the surface at the other side of the bath. 

Hannibal watches as the harsh red of his extremities is replaced by a soft warm flush all over his skin, starting at the tips of his ears and mottling down his chest below the surface of the water. Hannibal cradles him with his knees, but leaves his arms reclined on the edge of the bath. 

Eventually he can’t resist brushing his fingertips against Will’s cheek, feeling the heat of his blood under the skin. 

“You’re always outside, even in this weather. I wonder if I shall ever see you in the summer, when the daylight lasts long into the evening.”

“I like it,” Will says simply. “I never really got to before.”

Will seems to raise his own hackles at this, and squints suspiciously up at Hannibal before adding:

“Of course, my previous houses were much larger and grander than this so, perhaps, I didn’t need to.”

Despite the arch and flippant tone, even this smallest of steps toward candidness is rare, and Hannibal will not let this chance slip past. 

“I have never been to that part of the world, but I’ve heard from those who have and seen various plans and illustrations of the architecture. Were they much bigger than our home here?”

“Yes,” Will says without elaborating. 

“While here we must build to protect ourselves from the attacks of wind and snow, it seems in other parts of the world they need hardly build at all and simply bask under the eye of God all year round. I’ve seen plans for rooms open to the sky, and built around a garden courtyard. I imagine that was as close to the outside world as you were permitted.”

Will sits up, folding his arms on the side of the tub nearest the fire and pillowing his head against them. His hair drips quietly onto the floor. 

“A small, sterile recreation of what lies beyond the walls.”

“I liked sitting there,” Will says distantly in a cloudless voice. “There were orange trees and small birds tame enough to hold in your hand.”

“And when you held them, could you bear to let them go, knowing the freedom they had?”

Will breathes through his nose softly and shakes his head.

“You’re playing with me, my lord.”

“As though you’re the bird and I’m the lonely boy in the courtyard.”

“Like I’m the bird and you’re a cat.”

He gives Hannibal a warning glance, but lets the other man cup a hand round the nape of his neck and stroke down his back. He remains placid as Hannibal starts to rub soap into his hair. 

“I’m not small and cruel,” he says softly, eyes still closed from where he had spent a long moment letting Hannibal gently knead his scalp. “Also, while they may be some of my less painful recollections, I’ve never been blind enough to my reality to call myself content. It’s unnecessary for you to try to saturate those days with further melancholia.”

Hannibal accepts the knowing tone impassively and coaxes Will to shift round so he can rinse his hair.

“Tell me one last thing, Will: what did you do once you watched the last of them fly away into the sun? The only bird left in the cage.”

“I would wait for my master to call. To tell me to sing.”

Will stands, sending another soft slop of water over the sides of the tub, and steps out of the bath. He wraps himself in Hannibal’s robe and sits cross-legged in front of the fire. Hannibal leans back and watches him for a moment.

“I don’t require you to sing, but I will require your presence for most of tomorrow. We are expecting very important guests and they must be received with all proper honour.”

“Will they be offended if a eunuch isn’t in attendance?” Will says to the flames. 

“I will be offended, Will. So I ask that you don’t mix with any animals between now and then.”

“What about you?”

“I am not an animal,” he says in a pleasant voice. 

“But you’re not a man though, are you?”

“What would you know of manhood, Will?”

Will doesn’t rise to this and just shrugs, still not looking at him. 

He glances back at the sound of Hannibal getting out the bath and moves away while he dries himself in front of the fire. Hannibal can feel the quiet eyes on him. He doesn’t bother dressing. When he turns he finds Will has come a few paces closer. 

“And what do you look at now? Now you have the potential for the whole world rather than just a square of sky,” Hannibal asks.

“I look at myself.”

“The world opens and your eye turns inward?”

“It’s not entirely by choice.”

“However much it pains you, I advise you to gaze outside from time to time too. I am informed that men who are not men walk abroad. A terrifying prospect.”

Will stares at him unflinching for a moment, looking young and vulnerable with his damp hair and smooth narrow shoulders. He drops his gaze to his hands and steps back towards the bed. 

“Some of us never needed to be told,” he mutters.

///

Will stays by his side throughout the night and the next morning, then dutifully follows him down to the courtyard to receive his guests. 

The muffled sound of a guard calling for the gates to be opened reaches them as they pass down the hallways. Hannibal frowns softly. Slightly earlier than expected, but no matter. He sets a hand on the back of Will’s neck to get his attention.

“Be quick to stand with the servants, Will. While it may be somewhat fashionable if I were to make our guests wait, you would not give the same impression, I’m afraid.”

Will gives him a put upon look out the corner of his eye, but breaks into a half jog and turns into the hall a few paces ahead of him. The great doors at the other end of the hall are thrown open and provide a clear view of the courtyard. Will sees a stream of horses clatter through the gates, at the head of them a tall, ornately dressed man who dismounts with practised and careless ease. 

Unmistakeable even from this distance. 

Will’s face blanches and his shoulders tense. He immediately steps backwards to retreat round the corner, but thumps into Hannibal, who takes him by the shoulders and turns him around.

“What’s wrong?”

The dark eyes looking back at him are blazing and anguished. Will’s voice is low and bitter.

“I know that man. You know I do.”

“The two of you are intimately acquainted.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this was happening?” Will hisses furiously.

“I mentioned it.” Hannibal lays a finger against Will’s cheek and feels it burning.

“You didn’t say it would actually – or today –”

“I wanted your pure reaction. Why would I give you time to rehearse some meek display while your true desires lay locked within? Isn’t that hard for you?”

Will’s shoulders tremble and his jaw clenches. Hannibal isn’t sure if he has ever seen someone so angry. 

“How do you feel, seeing the man who made you who you are?”

“Neither us believe that,” Will says evasively.

“But it was he who did it, was it not?”

Will makes an impatient, annoyed huff.

“Of course he didn’t actually – he’s one of the most powerful men in the region, he has a million people under him to do his dirty work. You know what that’s like, I’m sure; I’ve never seen you back from mucking out the stables or scrubbing pots. Would you wield the blade yourself?” Will checks himself and steals a glance at Hannibal. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

Hannibal imagines the blade in his hand and presses his lips to Will’s hair to hide his smile. 

“But it was he who gave the order.”

Will swallows.

“Yes,” he says.

He moves to push past him back into the castle, but Hannibal tightens his hold on his shoulder and guides him firmly outside. 

“I hope you won’t embarrass either of us, Will,” he says lowly as they step into the bright, cold sun. Will doesn’t respond, just shakes the hand off his shoulder and immediately slips off to stand behind a group of servants a small distance away. 

Though inwardly Hannibal’s thoughts remain on Will, outwardly his focus is entirely trained on the man standing before him. 

“My lord Aedemar,” he says with a short bow, offering out his hand.

The other man returns the bow and clasps his hand. “Lord Hannibal,” he says warmly. 

“I am honoured by your presence, as are all my household. Though our home is humble, should you desire anything, trust that we are all at your disposal.”

“Be careful: my men will eat you out of house and home,” the other lord warns with a nod to his sizeable retinue. 

Hannibal laughs. “There will be a feast tonight which I have been assured would feed an army. But come, you must wish to rest first. Let me show you to your quarters. Your retinue will be taken care of.”

The two begin to climb the steps towards the castle doors, while the rest of the courtyard start to disperse. Stablehands take hold of the horses and the steward directs Aedemar’s servants to the kitchens and servants quarters. 

Hannibal looks back and sees Will about to vanish silently in a sea of bodies, but Hannibal freezes him with a clear look and holds out his hand. The anger in Will’s face is replaced by a carefully maintained and almost eery stillness. He approaches them softly and bent under Hannibal’s heavy gaze bows deeply at the foot of the stairs. Satisfied, Hannibal turns to lead them into the castle and hears Will fall into step behind the two lords. 

“A eunuch?” Aedemar asks curiously, as if Will weren’t there. At Hannibal’s nod, he says: “I had heard that such practices were not found here.”

“It’s true, my lord, they aren’t,” Hannibal replies. “He was a gift. I like to keep him close.”

“It’s always that way at first,” the other man says with a smile, giving Will a quick, appraising look over his shoulder. He’s wearing a short, light coloured tunic at Hannibal’s behest, which emphasises the slight flush to his pale skin and contrasts with his shock of dark hair. “Quite the gift.”

Hannibal remains an attentive and perfect host all the way to Aedemar’s quarters, but he aches to look into Will’s eyes. It’s quite apparent that Aedemar does not remember Will at all.

///

Will remains at Hannibal’s side the rest of the day, a pretty but silent little shadow. He refuses to say a single word, and beyond the occasional quickly stifled dark, brooding look, his face is similarly silent. 

Hannibal even hears his silence over the noise of the feast that night. He wonders what’s happening inside Will’s head, pressed against Hannibal’s thigh and turned away from Aedemar, his body flush and tense between Hannibal’s legs. 

It’s clear that Aedemar still has no recollection of Will. When his eyes occasionally pass over the eunuch they spark with base interest, but nothing suggesting that this is a fire being rekindled. Will must be as aware of this as Hannibal, and Hannibal is not particularly surprised to note that this only seems to have increased his agony. 

He strokes over Will’s hair, his slim shoulders. No response. 

He converses easily with those around him, letting his hand move to cup Will’s face and press his thumb against the corner of his mouth. Will twists his head and viciously sinks his teeth into Hannibal’s flesh, breaking the skin. 

Hannibal’s jaw twitches but he maintains his pleasant tone and smile, even as Will digs his teeth in again. He smooths his free fingers over the side of Will’s face until he lets go, and glancing down he sees a slick of red left on Will’s lips. 

“More wine,” he calls to the tables, who respond with a roar. He nods to some nearby slaves, who hurry to refill goblets. 

On a wave of alcohol, the guests swell to rowdy heights and then lull towards sleep. They begin to stagger out in the early hours of the morning. Hannibal sees the line of Will’s shoulders droop tiredly as he starts to drift. He gently shakes him back to alertness and gets a scowl in return. 

“Tired, Will?” he asks tenderly. He leans down and presses a kiss to his ear. “Go warm my bed, I will be with you soon.”

The scowl darkens. Then his face smooths over and he gracefully stands and bows to them each in turn, in a parody of subservience and respect reminiscent of his earliest days with Hannibal.

The insincerity also does not appear to be lost on Aedemar, who chuckles as Will exits the room. 

“Feisty,” he says, inclining his head towards the cut ringed by angry red teethmarks on Hannibal’s thumb. “He needs taking in hand; you’re not used to handling eunuchs, my lord. They can be worse then women if you let them. You keep him with you always?”

“I’m also having him taught to play the harp.”

Aedemar looks like he doesn’t believe that’s all. 

“I think you indulge him too much. I understand the temptation – they’re intoxicating at first. But the glamour wears off eventually.”

“There’s no glamour with Will, not anymore,” Hannibal says. “And I don’t think I could possibly tire of him. He’s something else entirely.”

The other man raises his eyebrows at this, intrigued, and looks thoughtfully at the now empty doorway.

“Well, if you ever do, I would be glad to make you a gift of several beautiful youths, to show the friendship between our lands.”

Hannibal inclines his head. “You’re too kind, my lord. I would like to see Will’s reaction to that.”

“You fear he would be jealous, is that it?” Aedemar laughs loudly and claps Hannibal’s shoulder boisterously. “See? you spoil him; the only thing he should feel is a desire to please you. And if that is being serviced by a hundred eunuchs then he should be grateful to be among them.” He pauses, then continues in a more delicate tone. “Should I take this to mean that you are also of a jealous disposition, my lord?”

Hannibal pretends not to understand Aedemar’s meaning for a moment, then draws in a breath of realisation. He considers and smiles after a moment. 

“Everything in my house is yours, my lord. Besides, your deeper knowledge of creatures like Will has given me much to consider regarding his treatment. This would be precisely the thing to teach him his place, don’t you think?”

Aedemar grins widely. “Excellent! Have him sent to my quarters.”

“Please, you may make use of my chambers tonight. He’s already waiting there, after all.” He pours them both more wine and toasts him. Afterwards he summons a servant to show Aedemar the way. 

“And you, my lord?” Aedemar says, getting to his feet with a slight stagger. “Where are you to sleep?”

Hannibal rises smoothly. “I have several things to attend to before then; I may still be at work when the sun rises.”

“As long as you don’t fall asleep during our hunt tomorrow,” the other man says distractedly, clapping his back once more before heading off. He turns back after a few paces. “I must warn you now: I won’t accept any impertinence from him. I can’t imagine one of my own eunuchs daring to bite me.”

Hannibal shrugs. 

“Do not worry about any damage if he acts out.”

“We can always make more,” Aedemar laughs.

“Ten thousand a year, I heard,” Hannibal smiles. 

///

Hannibal was not lying: several pressing matters demand his immediate attention, and for a short time he is focused solely on his work. Afterwards he strolls in the dark gardens, breathing deeply and mind already searching for Will in the night. 

At leisure he makes his way back to his own chambers. As he stands outside the door he hears nothing, and when he pushes it open the room is empty. For an instant he wonders whether Aedemar took Will back to his own rooms, and his lip curls in displeasure and his nostrils flare. They’re immediately filled with a sharp metallic scent, which draws him towards the bed. The curtains of the canopy are pulled closed around it; he reaches out to touch them and pauses. 

“Will?” he says softly. 

His call is met by a muffled, wet gasp from only a few paces away, and he follows the sound to find Will huddled on the floor and pressed against the side of the bed furthest from the door. He stares up at Hannibal, starry-eyed. He breathes shallowly through slightly parted lips, and his next breath hitches when Hannibal crowds close and crouches before him. Hannibal notes the knife clutched in his hand with some interest, as it’s certainly not one of his own, but only says:

“I’m the only one here.”

Will closes his eyes in relief and leans gratefully into Hannibal’s hold. He pushes his forehead against his chest. Hannibal feels Will’s racing heart through his clothes and his own swells in response. He wonders if he did drink too much at the feast.

“I thought…” Will begins hesitantly, almost inaudibly. 

“Are you speaking to me again?” Hannibal says fondly, easing his fingers through his curls. Will shakes his head softly, but continues slowly after a moment. 

“I thought it might be someone else… his manservant… I didn’t know what I would have to do.”

Hannibal tilts Will’s face up so their eyes meet. Will is unresisting and almost entranced as Hannibal smooths his palms over his face. He kisses his damp eyelids and gently lifts the hand still gripping the knife to press a kiss to the knuckles.

“What would you have had to do, Will?” he croons. “And what have you already done?”

The look in Will’s eyes dies and his face darkens. Hannibal can hear the gears turning in his mind. He sets his hands on Hannibal’s chest and pushes himself out of his hold. 

Hannibal stands; Will scrambles to his feet after him and takes a few unsteady steps away from the bed. Hannibal reaches once more for the canopy hangings. 

“If I pull back these curtains, what will I find?” he asks unnecessarily.

“Your design.”

Hannibal desperately wishes he could have been here to see it happen, but he finds beauty enough in the result. Aedemar lies on his back, partially clothed and adorned with more wounds than were necessary to kill him. Hannibal identifies the first blow, a particularly jagged and nasty line across the gut, but there are still thick, lazy lines of blood oozing from a number of other stab wounds peppered over the man’s side and torso.

His eyes travel up the body, where the waxy skin is largely unblemished beyond part of a bloody handprint over the slack mouth. He can see the faint smears on the bed where Will must have hurriedly wiped his hands, though turning to Will he sees they still have a ruddy stain which is more visible now that Will is not huddled in the shadows on the floor.

Hannibal draws him back to his side, closer to the body. Will looks at it with a tired, peculiar expression.

“Did he force himself on you, Will? Or did you lure him sweetly onto the blade?”

Will doesn’t respond. He turns the knife slowly in his hand as though seeing it for the first time. He sets it on the bed. At length he says:

“You made this happen. You wanted me to kill him.”

“I had hoped. But ultimately I could not force your hand: the decision was yours.”

“You didn’t exactly leave me much choice,” Will’s voice rises sharply before his eyes dart to the door and his mouth clamps shut. 

Hannibal touches his face.

“No one is coming, Will.”

He looks over the body again more carefully. 

“I had thought you would geld him. An eye for an eye, as it were.”

“Yes, well, it seems you had the luxury of being able to spend a lot more time thinking about this.”

“And what do you suppose happens now?” Hannibal asks. Will glances at him, jaw tense. “A nobleman has been butchered under my roof; am I to cover it up?”

Will looks slightly green. 

“What happens when his men wake in a few hours?” Hannibal goes on in a low voice, watching Will intently. 

Will’s face grows somehow even more bloodless. His eyes are both terrified and livid. 

“Would you let them take me?” he says with assumed calm, but his voice is shivering without the warmth of Hannibal’s mercy. Hannibal kisses the top of his head and breathes in the scent of him.

“Never. Besides, you are not the only one who has been busy tonight.” When Will looks at him warily he says: “Like I said, Will: no one is coming.”

Will is silent for a while. A small flame of anger in his eyes burns bright for a second, before it’s washed over by a sea of exhausted powerlessness. 

“You… you killed them all,” he says flatly. 

“Not all. Some of the servants are free to remain here, or return to their homeland. But all of his men, yes. Having drunk themselves into a stupor, it wasn’t difficult.”

“What about those he left at home? You’re risking war, for…” Will gestures vaguely around him.

Hannibal shakes his head. “I’m not interested in war. I’ve spent these past months forging alliances with the various kingdoms surrounding Lord Aedemar’s lands. By removing him I have made some very powerful allies. I imagine even now they’re moving in to take care of any supporters he may still have.”

Will sits blankly on the bed. “This really is your design,” he says quietly. 

Hannibal immediately invades his space, pressing himself to stand between Will’s legs. Will frowns and twitches his head to the side, but is otherwise still. 

“Not yours at all? I would have thought such an act would have been something you had long fantasised about.”

Will’s mouth twists in a bitter, sarcastic smile.

“I imagine control is a key part of that fantasy. But every line of this play seems to have written in your hand. I feel like a bit player. A puppet.”

"Are you going to pretend to me that you hated every part of it?"

Will's eyes stray involuntarily to the blade on the bed at the words and Hannibal’s follow keenly. He lowers himself down onto his elbows, covering Will and pressing him flat against the sticky bedspread. He knows Will can feel the thick line his erection. Will raises one leg and rests it against Hannibal’s side.

“But perhaps it would feel better to kill me?”

Will gropes for the knife, eyes locked on Hannibal’s, and they both draw in a breath as he sets the edge of the blade against Hannibal’s throat. He applies pressure, throat working and pupils huge. After a prolonged pause, some part of him wins, and with some effort he shifts the blade away and runs his thumb over the thin red line left behind on the skin.

“On my own terms. Not tonight.”

///

No vengeful army marches to Hannibal’s doorstep as the weeks turn to months, though he does find himself having to play host to several ambassadors from his new allies, who bring with them various tokens of their appreciation. 

Will sits on the table and fingers a new bolt of silk restlessly. Hannibal pushes his chair back and looks at him, waiting for him to speak. Will glances up through his lashes.

“You’ve had a lot of visitors lately,” he says casually.

“Yes.”

Will gives him another careful look and holds the words in his mouth a moment before speaking.

“What about the man who brought me here? Is he coming?”

Hannibal leans towards him, smiling indulgently, and kisses the corner of his mouth. 

“And what could you possibly want with him?”

“He and I should have words.”

“It is not your place to ‘have words’ with an esteemed dignitary, Will, you forget yourself,” Hannibal says smoothly. “Besides, if I follow the natural course of this list you seem to be creating, I rather distressingly find myself at the end of it.”

“I don’t think you find that distressing.” Will curls a warm hand around his wrist. “Invite him.”

Hannibal feels consumed.

“Of course.”

He kisses Will again, worrying his lip with his teeth. Will’s mouth is unmoving against his, as always, but then he tentatively parts his lips and kisses him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally supposed to be just a one-shot, I never expected to write more than the initial sex scene in chapter 1. but this was fun, and I might write more in this universe one day

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [tumblr](https://drostana.tumblr.com)


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